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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24956128">A Million Ways to be Cruel</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtoblack/pseuds/redtoblack'>redtoblack</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magicians (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, M/M, Quentin Coldwater and Alice Quinn are Just Friends, and there are some assumptions to be unmade, season 1 AU, so Q is free to pine, this is sort of a pre-getting together fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:43:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,932</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24956128</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtoblack/pseuds/redtoblack</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Quentin makes a list. Eliot likes milk.</p><p>Or, a little one-shot Season 1 AU in which Quentin starts out friends with Alice, but otherwise has no friends. So this is how that Quentin finds Eliot and Margo.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Quentin Coldwater &amp; Margo Hanson &amp; Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>82</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Million Ways to be Cruel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I was working on a different story and listening to my writing playlist when "A Million Ways" by OK Go came on, and I instantly knew I needed to write something specific for these two inspired by that song. About four hours later of that on repeat, this came into being. I have several things in the works, including other fics about Quentin and Eliot, so let me know if you have feedback on how I write their world! My wonderful brother betas for me, but he is pretty new to the show. :)</p><p>Also, it is kinda weird posting fic right now. I use reading and writing as a way to hold steady and find reprieve through creating things, so hopefully posting now can contribute to that purpose. Black Lives Matter. Stay healthy. Well wishes, everyone! &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A knot twisted like a knife, specifically a dull, clumsy butcher’s knife, in Quentin’s stomach. It was trying to tell him several things, the list getting longer as he sat refusing to listen.</p><p>He was drunk.</p><p>That one had been there for a while. Quentin didn’t even need the notification anymore, he could tell by the way there were hazy little lights all over his unfocused vision. Some of them even made words, like the large glittering “TA-DA” fluttering cheerily in the air above him. He frowned. Weren’t those supposed to be on the wall behind him? And real? After a moment of intense searching, Quentin found the dark paneling of the Cottage wall behind the sign, and the paintings and paraphernalia which accompanied it.</p><p>Oh. He was facing the wrong way. Balance being fucked, turning around in his chair involved falling off of it and then using both forearms to leverage himself back off the floor. After a moment facing the right way, the stairway and annoyingly bright room beyond it came back into focus. He hadn’t come to the party for drinking, not really, but the reason he wanted to drink was the same as the one who controlled the alcohol supply, so. It all kind of made a feedback loop.</p><p>He was alone, and Julia hadn’t been accepted to Brakebills. His best friend. The one who deserved magic, who should have it more than anyone, more than <em>him</em>, fuck, but she hadn’t made it. Maybe Quentin should go home too. Be with her? But he was supposed to be here, right?</p><p>Which was turning out real swell, by the way. Quentin grinned bitterly and toasted his cocktail at no one before downing it. Now he didn’t even have alcohol to keep him company. Alice was here somewhere, but she was probably dancing off in the middle of the fun-loving partygoers in the other room. Todd was - oh god, playing strip poker by the couches. Margo was overseeing that game, or possibly providing strategic input, hard to tell. Eliot was...well, he was for later on Quentin’s list. And that was literally everyone he could consider a friend.</p><p>He had magic, but it hadn’t fixed him.</p><p>Now Quentin was getting into it. He groaned and lolled his head, leaning back until he slithered from his chair into a puddle on the floor. Great, now he could wallow among his spiritual fellows, the specks of dirt and alcohol stains and other detritus on the floor that he probably didn’t want to think about. He was like...spilled milk. Don’t anybody worry over spilled-milk-Quentin. Magic couldn’t even clean up spilled milk. Well, it could, but you’d have to know the position of the fucking moons of Saturn first and by that point you might as well just get a cloth. The point was, he wasn’t supposed to...things were supposed to be better. He was supposed to have gotten better, just like magic, because he literally had fucking magic in his life now. But it hadn’t, so what was the problem? Was it just Quentin? The thinking part of his brain said, <em>It’s chemicals, Q, and magic can’t change that, it’s not about us,</em> and the drunk part said, <em>Shhhhh.</em></p><p>Penny hated him.</p><p>Wow, was that really important enough to be on the list? Apparently. Quentin had done nothing wrong on his first day, he had never even heard of magic let alone been taught about mental warding, and Penny had been such a dick anyway. Was that Quentin’s fault? Penny thought so. The alcoholic haze over Quentin’s mind seemed to agree. He curled up on the floor, tucking himself around the empty glass. Now Kady hated Quentin too, and it was only a matter of time before they convinced the other Physical Kids not to be friends with him, and he’d lose Alice, and Margo, and…</p><p>And there were light footsteps coming towards him.</p><p>Quentin followed the long, well-tailored lines up from the shiny leather shoes as they came closer. Midnight blue slacks met by a long, open jacket of the same color, a smooth black belt threaded through the loops. Dove gray shirt with an ashy waistcoat and lavender paisley tie. The knot looked impossibly like a lively springtime flower, and in Quentin’s mind it was so lifelike and pretty that he started to tear up. The feeling was not helped when he tilted his head up further from the floor, peering at the face of the man in front of him, eyes narrowed against the light. Eliot had knelt down on the floor and was gently but firmly pulling on the glass at the center of Quentin’s human puddle.</p><p>“Hey, Quentin? I know I’m the last one to be saying this, but I think you should probably go sleep it off.” Ah. His voice was gentle. Which was nice, but - well. Might as well finish the list.</p><p>Point A: Quentin was pretty far gone for Eliot Waugh.</p><p>Point B: Eliot was in a loose but very obvious, very loving relationship with Margo Hanson.</p><p>He had come to the party because Eliot said he missed him at the last one, but he probably said that to everybody so more people would show up. Eliot was quite the host, standing over at his bar all night, making specialized drinks for everyone who came by. Which is how Quentin got so drunk. It wasn’t fair, really, the way his hands moved delicately with all the different ingredients and...cups...and okay Quentin maybe knew very little about mixology, but he knew it was impressive. And Eliot used his telekinesis too, which was elegant and made it all even cooler to watch. Plus, everything he made was delicious, so Quentin had kept going back for more drinks, but the more he drank, the more he thought about Eliot, which was both what he wanted and what he was trying to avoid. Eventually, Quentin had escaped past the stairs to drink in solitude where he could still just barely keep the bar in sight. It wasn’t exactly solitude, since there were people making out on the couch - oh, look, he found Kady and Penny - but they wouldn’t bother him like the overly hype atmosphere in the other room.</p><p>“Quentin?” Eliot’s quiet voice cut through Quentin’s foggy internal ramble. It had been a minute since he spoke.</p><p>“Hey, you, you - look like a million bucks. And I’m drunk.” Quentin added conspiratorially, then frowned. That’s not exactly the way he thought that sentence would turn out when he opened his mouth. Eliot just laughed delightedly.</p><p>“I <em>told</em> Bambi you were cute. Should I grab Alice for you?”</p><p>His eyes were playful, but not mocking. They were also unfairly beautiful. If there were a spell to never have to blink, Quentin would cast it on him. It would be his gift to the world. He drifted, trying to focus on Eliot’s question, but instead found himself focusing on the dimly lit lines of his face, the way his hair curled loosely without obscuring his features, the subtle tone of his shoulder as he reached out to shake Quentin slightly -</p><p>“Stay with me here. Do you want Alice to come get you?”</p><p>Quentin tried to catch up.</p><p>“Not cute,” he mumbled.</p><p>Eliot raised his eyebrows at him. “What?”</p><p>“I’m...not cute,” he said again, trying to speak clearly, and dropped his head back onto the floor with a <em>thunk</em> that felt far away. Suddenly speaking was a lot of work.</p><p>A sigh came from above him, and then Quentin felt himself getting pulled up from the floor by a combination of Eliot’s arms and telekinesis. It felt like being on a waterbed while standing up, if a waterbed was really made of warm wind and left you with a faint taste of berries. Eliot’s arm appeared barely clasped around his waist, and he guided Quentin with a light hold on his wrist, pulling it up and around Eliot’s shoulders.</p><p>“Where should we go?” Quentin asked, willing the furniture to stop sliding around as he stood. Eliot steadied him with a small smile before slowly walking them out of the dark side room together.</p><p>“We are going upstairs. Then, you are going to bed, and I am coming back down here because it is only midnight and I have partygoers to charm. You got drunk too early, Coldwater.”</p><p>The thing was, Eliot’s face was, well. Right next to Quentin’s. And that was a sight. He only looked away because they had reached the stairs and he wanted to help climb them rather than be actual deadweight.</p><p>“You are very charming,” he agreed, nodding drowsily. That got a warm chuckle.</p><p>Quentin liked making Eliot laugh. It had taken less than a day of knowing each other to figure that out. There was something about the way his face would light up, like he was surprised when something made him genuinely happy, like it let him forget about things he kept hidden. Quentin knew what that felt like, and it was a gift he was grateful to provide for his friend.</p><p>“You’re not so bad yourself, Quentin. Even if you are extraordinarily sloshed right now. Speaking of which, you should have told me you were a lightweight before letting me make you drinks all night.” Eliot chided him, encouraging each step up the creaky stairs with supportive magic.</p><p>“You know, you’re basically carrying me up the stairs right now,” Quentin said thickly.</p><p>“Mmhm. Exactly.”</p><p>“No, my point...you should probably call me Q.”</p><p>They paused, Quentin’s Converses brushing over the last couple steps. Eliot just looked at him for a long moment. Had that been wrong? Sure, he was with Margo, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have <em>friends</em> (nevermind if those friends have a major crush on him, and besides, Quentin could definitely handle himself). But no, Eliot’s eyes were pleased, just careful.</p><p>“Should I now?” He asked lightly, rhetorically, as they left the staircase and started towards Quentin’s room.</p><p>“Plus, like, my night was way worse before you got there. I was, um, spilled milk. And no one cried over me but they weren’t supposed to so it was okay. But you,” Quentin clumsily patted a hand at Eliot’s chest, missing the bemused look on his face, and continued earnestly, “you un-spilled the milk, Eliot. That’s, like, that’s so cool.”</p><p>God, he had to stop rambling. He was trying so hard to be platonic here, but his drunk brain kept losing track of why. They could at least be friends. Quentin could do that, just be Eliot’s friend. He <em>could.</em></p><p>A friend who just really liked to compliment Eliot’s character and, um, eyes. See? He was fine.</p><p>“Well, um,” Eliot humored him through his confused smile, “I like milk? Anyway, here we are, milk-man. Can you set your wards for me or should I take them down until I leave?”</p><p>Okay, so Quentin was a little selfish. And currently severely lacking in inhibitions. And the idea of Eliot being one of the people his wards would automatically let into his room, currently just Alice, made him feel melty inside. Kinda the same way he had felt when Eliot called him “milk-man” which would probably be, like, a really weird memory in the morning, if he remembered any of this.</p><p>“Yeah, I can do…” Quentin’s hand met his own magic in the air where his wards pulsed faintly. It took a moment to collect himself enough to remember the tut, but the intention of modifying his wards for Eliot was in the forefront of his mind already, so the spellwork got the idea.</p><p>“Okay, in we go.” Eliot declared when he had finished. The door whined on their way through, thumping shut behind them since Eliot’s hands were occupied with Quentin and Quentin’s hands were occupied with not falling. He was glad it was dark because then Eliot wouldn’t have to see the mess his room was in, though less glad when they both tripped over some textbooks he had left on the floor.</p><p>Finally. Finally, finally. Quentin didn’t have to stand up anymore. He could lay down, and it wasn’t on the floor, it was in his own bed. He groaned out loud and kicked his shoes off using his toes.</p><p>A laugh sounded from the doorway, and he rolled over to investigate, having forgotten there was someone else present. Eliot stood poised to leave, blurrily silhouetted with butter-yellow light from the hallway.</p><p>“I’ll tell Alice to come check on you when she comes upstairs later,” he said reassuringly, and turned to go.</p><p>“Wait, Eliot!” Quentin was already half asleep, and wanted to be the rest of the way before the pounding in his head caught up with him, but that wasn’t how he wanted to end the conversation.</p><p>“Thank you, um, for, everything.” He finished, hoping it was enough.</p><p>In the strong contrast of light and shadow on Eliot’s face, Quentin guessed there was a smile by a rounded strip of brightness along the top of his cheekbone.</p><p>“I’ll see you tomorrow, Q.”</p><p>The door shut softly, and Quentin laid back, still diagonal where he had collapsed on top of his bed. The knot in his stomach had loosened. There was still an ache, a reminder that he couldn’t - that Eliot was already - that they were just friends. But it was mixed with a warm, happy glow, and Quentin let himself sink into it as he fell asleep.</p><p>Because they were friends, and friends was good. Eliot had helped him up the stairs. Talked to Alice for him.</p><p>
  <em>Here we are, milk-man.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’ll see you tomorrow, Q.</em>
</p><p>...</p><p>It was tomorrow, and Quentin had awoken with a bitch of a hangover and those same words ringing shrilly behind his eyes. The words faded. The headache did not.</p><p>Moving agonizingly slowly, he had eventually found himself downstairs, feeling gross and stiff but awake and glad it was a Sunday. There was a muted but steady flow of people around the room as Physical kids woke up and ambled downstairs to nurse their hangovers, and a few students from other disciplines went home for the first time since yesterday. There was an empty seat in the corner, probably empty because the one next to it belonged to Margo, but he liked Margo well enough and it was a very squishy chair.</p><p>Quentin curled up into it as soon as he sat down, one hand pressing into his forehead in an attempt to massage out the internal pressure. The white leather was cool and soothing against his back and legs, making him feel like he was sitting in a cloud. He even forgot to feel embarrassed about how he must look - he had refused to check a mirror before coming downstairs because he didn’t have the energy to clean up anyway - especially next to Margo, who as always looked completely put together.</p><p>“Hi there, milk-man.” Margo said, her voice teasing but friendly. Quentin peeked through a gap in his fingers as she lounged over the side of her seat towards him.</p><p>“Milk-man?” He croaked.</p><p>Her lips parted and eyes narrowed in the way of someone used to detecting gossip.</p><p>“How much do you remember about the party last night?” She asked. Quentin searched her gaze warily from behind his hands, but she looked, if anything, like she wanted to be helpful.</p><p>“Uh...I drank...a lot...and I remember going to sit over there after a while.” He gestured vaguely towards the TA-DA sign with a short movement which returned immediately to his throbbing temples.</p><p>“What did I, uh. Was there something with milk?” He tried to clarify, resigned. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing he had heard after getting too drunk to remember a party.</p><p>“Well,” Margo began, appraising him for a moment before stating frankly, “you refused to join my game of strip poker, then went to go sulk with some vodka and stared at Eliot until you slid onto the floor. He carried you up the stairs to your room, and you told him that you had been spilled milk that he de-spilled or some similar sappy bullshit.”</p><p>Quentin let out a sound of frustration which eventually morphed into “well, shit.”</p><p>A warm hand patted his head, and Margo smiled at him. She was being remarkably friendly this morning. Maybe she got like that when she was hungover.</p><p>“Honestly, Q, I’ve seen a lot worse. Hell, I’ve done a lot worse. And besides, I think El liked your sappy bullshit.”</p><p>Hang on.</p><p>Quentin froze. Margo was still smiling, looking down at him expectantly. She had called him Q. That was new. Only Alice and Jules called him that. She had also said that Eliot liked his sappy bullshit. <em>Told Quentin,</em> that Eliot liked his sappy bullshit. Uh.</p><p>“Okay, I think I should, clear something up. I was really out of it, I mean obviously, but I wasn’t like trying to come onto Eliot or anything. You know that, right?” He said all at once. Margo blinked at him, her expression hardening slightly.</p><p>“Well why the fuck not?”</p><p>What.</p><p>“Um, what?” Was Quentin still drunk? Or maybe still asleep and dreaming something oddly realistic?</p><p>“It’s pretty damn obvious you like him. I had assumed,” she barrelled past his bewildered “um”, “that last night was you seeing sense and deciding to stop avoiding him at all costs. So, why are you telling me right now that you were actually <em>not</em> coming onto him?” She finished sharply.</p><p>“Because you two are together?” It was definitely a question. Quentin would have made just about anything into a question at that moment.</p><p>Margo stared, then heaved a dramatic sigh and delicately pinched the bridge of her nose with perfect magenta nails.</p><p>“No, Q. We’re not together, you moron. I will let it go this <em>once</em> because you haven’t spent enough time around us to know that. But that is on the condition that you fix your mistakes immediately and do not let them happen again.” She said, clipped and firm.</p><p>“Wait, you’re not -” Quentin started, lowering his hands from his forehead, but she fixed him with a round look that shot daggers and cut off his train of thought.</p><p>Well that put the entire night in perspective. And then some.</p><p>Eliot had left his station as host to...check on Quentin. Literally carry him up the stairs instead of just getting Alice. And he had, apparently, liked Quentin’s drunk prattle about being a fucking de-spilled-milk-man.</p><p>“Morning, Q.” That was Eliot’s voice. Quentin glanced around the room, finding him striding towards them from the kitchen with two tall glasses in hand. Like Margo, and unlike every other person in the Cottage, he looked perfect, and wore a smile atop his all-day evening wear. Quentin’s stomach did an odd flip at that. He looked for the painful knot that was in his gut last night, but it was gone, without even an ache to hold its place. Instead was something far less familiar, definitely less comfortable. Something hopeful.</p><p>“I see you’ve taken my seat and are chatting with my Bambi.” Eliot said mildly, setting down a glass of red, foamy liquid in front of each of them.</p><p>“Oh, fuck, sorry.” Quentin started to uncurl himself from the seat, but Eliot held up a hand to stop him.</p><p>“Oh god no, don’t actually be sorry.” He said shortly, frowning a little, then rested his hands on his hips. “I’m afraid I have come up one hangover cure short. I’ll go make one for me.”</p><p>Margo grabbed one of his hands before he could go.</p><p>“Eliot, these two alone took an hour. I don’t wanna be bored for that long, just share one.” She pouted exaggeratedly. Quentin knew her enough to recognize this as behavior that usually no one other than Eliot would witness. And now, Quentin - he hadn’t thought about it before, but even though they didn’t talk much, they did actually spend a fair amount of time together. He felt comfortable with them, and apparently, they felt the same about him. The leather seat squished under his spine as he settled back into it.</p><p>“Oh, by the way, why are you two calling me ‘Q’ today?” Quentin interrupted them, taking a drink from the closer glass. It wasn’t bad exactly, the flavor strong and vivacious but just weird enough to be a hangover cure.</p><p>Eliot dropped into the seat with him, readjusting as Quentin squirmed around to make room. It was wide, okay, but not like, a couch or anything. He remembered again - <em>I think El liked your sappy bullshit.</em> Huh.</p><p>“You told me I should, last night. When we were going up the stairs.” He explained, then made a grabby motion for Quentin’s drink and downed some of it.</p><p>Margo elaborated: “And when El gets friendship rights, I get friendship rights.” She grinned cheekily and also reached out for Quentin’s drink, her eyes smiling as she sipped and passed it back, never setting down her own glass from her other hand.</p><p>Quentin looked down at the cup in his hand, now a third empty. This was a lot to take in at once.</p><p>Eliot’s knee knocked lightly against his, asking for attention.</p><p>“You were super drunk though. Is that still okay?” His eyes, still unfairly rich and clear, were openly asking a bigger question.</p><p>And it was a good one to ask. Was Quentin up for taking in these two new people into his life? It was clear they would take up a lot of it, and he would start to take up a lot of theirs. Did he want that?</p><p>Um, hell yes. They were intense, and had some unfamiliar ideas about boundaries, but they were also fun, and caring, and took care of each other, he had seen that. And more importantly, he was comfortable around them. They were basically already friends, Quentin just hadn’t actually ever talked to them long enough to figure that out. He had been too busy avoiding what he thought was their Couple Space. And if that wasn’t what he thought, well, then that was something to explore too.</p><p>But Eliot had asked a small question, so Quentin responded with a small answer.</p><p>“I mean, as long as when I finish this, I get to drink yours.” He held up the glass towards Margo, who acknowledged it with a tilt of her head.</p><p>“Hey, I said friendship rights. Which means we go outside and battle it out for the last sip like real women.” She quipped affectionately.</p><p>“Don’t even try, she’ll win,” Eliot added.</p><p>There was a loud thud from the stairwell, and the three of them looked over to see a bedraggled Alice catch herself on the banister as an attractive second-year Knowledge student tripped the rest of the way down and out the front door.</p><p>Quentin sighed and stretched his legs out, pointing his bare feet until his muscles shook, and stood up unsteadily.</p><p>“Speaking of friendship rights, I’ll go check on her. Either of you mind if…?” He indicated the hangover drink in his hand, already walking backwards as Eliot seemingly expanded to take up the whole seat.</p><p>When neither of his new-found friends objected, Quentin turned to head towards Alice. It looked like she had forgotten her glasses upstairs, which would explain why she was tripping over literally everything, but she was gripping her head tightly and didn’t seem to notice.</p><p>Margo’s voice called out from behind him.</p><p>“Bring Mama back some deets, milk-man!”</p>
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